Silent Night, Sinful Night Read online

  Speaking of broad . . . Rosie glanced at the man beside her. He was still sleeping soundly. Careful not to wake him, Rosie eased her way up to a sitting position. He barely moved when she tucked the silk pillow behind her and leaned against the carved mahogany headboard.

  The sheer white curtains swayed a little in the fading night breeze from the sea just beyond the Matthews’ mansion.

  With a content sigh, she stretched again. Arms over her head, one hand kneaded the lower arm of the other. Then she repeated the languid massage on the other arm. Leaning her head to the side, she watched his muscular chest rise and fall with the deep breaths he took. The sheets pooling around his narrow hips barely covered Winston’s truly imposing and most aweinspiring asset.

  There’d been nothing mediocre about his performance either. He was an extremely talented and generous lover. She’d marked a few sons of wealthy and titled men before, and in her experience they tended to be immature and selfish lovers, happy to find their own pleasure quickly. That was nothing at all like the man beside her. With Winston it seemed as if her pleasure was as important to him as his own.

  That first night had been a pleasant surprise—not at all what she’d expected. She’d already settled on a prize for this fortnight’s undertaking. Lady Ponsonby’s exquisite ruby necklace had caught her eye right away. It was worth a fortune, and even more if you had a matching piece you never intended to sell at any price.

  But then Winston had come along. He’d seemed like any other gullible mark when she’d first met him—with the added bonus of him being as tall as an oak and handsome. His dark blond lashes could make any woman burst with envy. And the heat in his gaze . . . Rosie shivered with the memory of his hazel eyes glittering with lust. They’d called to something in her she couldn’t put her finger on.

  The first slivers of the morning sun peeked through the sheer white curtains, making his thick hair shine like white gold. The tentative rays crawled farther into the room, revealing how impersonal and nondescript it really was. It could have been anyone’s room. Any guest’s room. Her own room didn’t look that different.

  That was peculiar.

  Winston shifted in his sleep. Rosie turned back to him and realized he was tanned. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? His skin was sun kissed not only on his face, which did happen to the few who weren’t careful when living in the Caribbean, but also on his arms and across his whole torso. Fashionable gentlemen never let themselves tan at all. Not even here in the West Indies if they could help it. Not ever. They wouldn’t be caught dead resembling the working class.

  Their hands wouldn’t boast calluses from manual labor either.

  That was a little too curious.

  Maybe he wasn’t who he pretended to be? Could he be putting on an act as well?

  She’d heard stories of people being lost at sea or separated from family for long periods of time and someone else taking their place and pretending to be them. But if that were the case with him, it would have had to have been very recent for him still to be so tanned.

  But if something like the return of the long-lost son of the governor-general had happened recently, she’d have heard about that. It had to be something else, but what?

  Goodness gracious, what if he was the competition?

  Up to now, Winston had turned out to be something altogether very different at every turn. That gave her a strange, uneasy feeling she wasn’t sure what to do with. Her innate ability to quickly read people kept her dry, fed, and clothed. But he wasn’t the open book he should be. That was putting her off balance.

  Winston Matthews didn’t make sense, and that was dangerous for a woman like her. She was going to have to keep a very close eye on him. But with his strong body, his soft hazel eyes, and his amorous talents, it wouldn’t be too bothersome of a chore.

  Rosie carefully folded the sheet back. Let the other ladies lie abed until noon enjoying their holiday. She had things to do. This was work for her, after all. Looking at the gorgeous, mysterious man beside her, she couldn’t help but think how much she did so enjoy her work to the fullest. She left the bed and the room without waking him—another skill she’d perfected along the way.

  Tugging on the scratchy lace at his sleeves, Winston cursed what polite society regarded as proper clothing for the third time this morning. His coat was much too narrow and would surely tear in two as soon as he hitched his shoulders. The white necktie throttled him so much that he’d probably swoon like a damsel any moment. A crude curse slithered from his lips as one of his ridiculous pink heels caught in the carpet and had him stumble like an oaf round the bend.

  Winston righted his clothing and resumed his stiff stride down the corridor. His wardrobe wasn’t the only reason for his foul mood. He’d awoken to a warm and soft empty pillow that still smelled of Beatrice, only she was nowhere in sight.

  He’d been looking forward to a morning of seduction. Spooning her, his arms around her. Sluggishly entering her while still half asleep and snuggling into that warm, wet tunnel. Hardening fully. Enjoying a laggard fuck to start the day properly.

  No such luck; she had left him sometime in the early morning hours.

  He couldn’t really say why he hadn’t liked waking up alone, other than the obvious missed opportunity. Maybe it was his suspicious nature. He’d hate to find she’d already done something to make him turn her over to the authorities. He didn’t want to part company so soon. He’d enjoyed their time, and not just the sex—positively mind-blowing with the demanding little minx—but also her company. Her wit. Her sense of humor. Her refreshing lack of inhibitions.

  If he did say so himself, luring that pretty thief to his bed had been an exceptionally good idea. An affair would be the perfect solution to keep her away from the others and by his side. Also, she’d be tucked in safely where he could warm her all night long should she wish it. She may need a bit of convincing to see they could both only profit from it.

  Approaching the stairs, Winston heard a ruckus beneath him. By instinct, he halted in his tracks and leaned into the shadows of the corridor. Checking the mirror set into the chest piece of the polished plate armor at the top of the stairs, he tried to find out what was going on below.

  Was it another party already? A strange place for it, though. There was no laughing either.

  The mirror didn’t help much; it was only useful when just one person tried to sneak up the stairs. In that case, the dagger hidden behind the bust next to Winston usually proved indispensable. Seeing as it was neither night nor an assassin out to kill him or one of his family, Winston stepped out into the light.

  None of the guests hunching in solidarity with whoever was the center of attention took notice of him. The blob of people moved a little to one side, then to the other, low chatter accompanying much patting of shoulders or hands to soothe the agitation.

  As soon as Winston was within hearing range, he could make out the words “ruby” and “necklace” and saw Lady Ponsonby bobbing her solemn head while dabbing at a tear.

  Oh, bloody hell! That didn’t bode well.

  The people parted and Winston entered the sea of worried glances. Subdued apprehension pressed against him like a strong current, but Winston pushed forward to stand next to Lord Ponsonby, who was just then scratching the bald patch at the back of his head.

  While the tang of nervous sweat from Lady Ponsonby was strong, there was no mistaking the sweet bergamot caressing his senses. Winston’s pulse leaped to a drumroll, and tender warmth spread in his chest as he realized Beatrice was among the pandemonium, in its very center, holding Lady Ponsonby’s hand and murmuring, “Don’t worry. I’m sure the necklace shall be found in no time.”

  However gentle her words were, her glare toward him certainly wasn’t. “Mr. Matthews, one of your family’s guests has suddenly found herself bereft of a special piece of jewelry this morning. The very same ruby necklace she’d worn to the Christmas Eve ball, in fact.” Beatrice narrowed one eye at him as
if he had something to do with all of this.

  Was she ruthless enough to take the necklace while he was sleeping and somehow act as if she was angry and suspicious of him?

  Winston couldn’t believe it. But the necklace was gone.

  If she’d taken it, Winston hoped to be able to tell when she looked him in the eye. But she was good; he couldn’t see any trace of remorse or triumph on her features. And if her pursing her lips in distaste was anything to go by, all he could tell was that she was trying to antagonize him.

  “Silly twit,” Lord Ponsonby grumbled to his wife. “That collection has been in my family for generations, and you’re losing it all piece by bloody piece.”

  Beatrice took Lady Ponsonby and together they ambled into the garden.

  “Not to worry, Lord Ponsonby.” Winston bowed, hand over heart, even though he would have preferred to slap the man. “I will personally start looking for it right away.”

  Already on his way out, Winston swore to never again make the mistake of letting Beatrice out of his sight. Nothing good could come of it.

  3

  Steadying Lady Ponsonby’s shaking hand, Rosie guided her out onto the back terrace leading to a bowling green, bordered on both sides with logwood tree–lined paths. The gardens were similar to a few others she’d seen in the West Indies—European staidness and order imposed on what was once a jungle.

  The paths converged at the entrance of a passion vine–covered maze at the far end of the lawn. On the other side of the east path, the kitchen garden was hidden behind a cordon of starflowers and sweetleaf. Rosie and Lady Ponsonby decided for the west path into the formal garden and took a seat on a stone bench beneath a groomed cashew tree.

  Rosie took a long, deep breath. “My, don’t the lime trees smell divine!”

  Lady Ponsonby looked up from her lap. She seemed a little confused by the innocuous comment. “Oh . . . what’s that, dear?”

  “The trees. Smell lovely.”

  “Yes, yes. A little overpruned for my taste but very nice.” At that, she made an effort to appear cheerful, but unease eclipsed her smile.

  Rosie patted the other woman’s hand in sympathy and waited for her to begin the conversation again. Patience was the key to trust—and Lady Ponsonby’s trust was essential to her goal.

  Rosie could only hope she would be able to keep her patience where Winston was concerned. She’d counted on easy work for the holiday season, but it seemed she was going to have to deal with competition now. It was just as well. Christmas had never really meant anything special for her. She’d never had anything close to what anyone would call a traditional Christmas celebration. The extra challenge was just the thing to distract her from all the silly merriment.

  A small cough beside her brought Rosie’s attention back into the garden and to Lady Ponsonby, whose clammy hands jerked in Rosie’s warm palms like she wanted to say something.

  “I’m afraid I’ve ruined everyone’s holiday.”

  “Nonsense!” Rosie assured her. “You haven’t ruined it; you’ve made it. You know how people are. The holidays would be unremarkable and boring for them without a little excitement. I do hate that it was at your expense. Was it a very special piece?”

  “Yes, part of an old family collection, you see. My husband wouldn’t have been quite so angry if a matching ring hadn’t also gone missing some years ago.”

  “Oh, dear, then I will make it my mission to do everything I can to help you find it.” Rosie didn’t say anything about giving it back once she found it, though.

  “Aren’t you so kind, Lady Latimer, a true spirit of the season.” Lady Ponsonby’s smile looked much more genuine this time.

  “It’s nothing, really. Now you must think where or when did you last remember having it.”

  “I wore it our first night here, then put it on again right before I came down for the ball last night, of course.” It was apparent she had repeated this several times recently. “I just don’t know what could have happened.”

  That wasn’t what Rosie was asking. “Yes, but try to trace all your steps last night in your mind and feel the necklace on you. Was there a time during the night you remember touching it or feeling the weight move when you danced? Or perhaps you felt it pull when someone bumped into you?”

  Rosie could see Lady Ponsonby tracing her footsteps in her mind. She pursed her lips, then frowned and huffed. Suddenly something must have dawned on her. She paled, her eyes wide, and she unconsciously touched her throat.

  Rosie’s stomach gave an excited flutter while she tried her best not to appear too eager when Lady Ponsonby leaned in a bit closer. “Darling girl, if you would promise to keep this private for the moment . . .”

  Rosie sensed her trepidation the minute Lady Ponsonby stopped midsentence and looked over Rosie’s shoulder.

  “Mr. Matthews!”

  Rosie inwardly sighed in frustration as she turned toward Winston with a pleasant smile. His acute sense of timing was not appreciated nearly as much this morning as it was last night. But she had to give him credit; he was good.

  “Lady Ponsonby.”

  “How much you resemble your father!” Lady Ponsonby let them hear a slightly nervous cackle of laughter before she cleared her throat. “I wanted to thank you for all your concern earlier.”

  “It was my pleasure and my duty, Lady Ponsonby.” His large frame provided almost as much shade as the tree they hid under. He seemed to know it and bent down on one knee to converse on their level.

  “Mr. Matthews, have you met Lady Latimer? She also so sweetly offered to help.”

  Winston gave a slight bow toward Rosie. “We met Christmas Eve, yes. Good morning, Lady Latimer.”

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “I trust you slept well last night after the excitement of yet another ball?”

  Insufferable. That angelic smile might fool others, but not her.

  “I certainly did, yes. I feel quite refreshed this morning.”

  “No tossing and turning?” He bared impossibly white teeth. “Wonderful. Then you were up and about early enough to witness the disaster?”

  “I’m not in the habit of sleeping late, so yes, I’ve seen it all.” Let him think she’d caught him red-handed. Maybe that would rattle him.

  “Perhaps also how it came about? Any detail you could bring yourself to remember would help.” With his eyebrows raised, he clearly expected to hear something like I’ve seen you take it, you charming—no, no, make that you cunning giant of a man.

  Instead, it was Rosie’s turn to curl her lips into a secretive smile. “I was just asking Lady Ponsonby the same when you interrupted us.”

  With his head bowed, Rosie thought she could see him bite his cheeks to hide a grin. “Lady Ponsonby, I hope you don’t mind if I ask Lady Latimer to take a turn around the gardens with me. Perhaps we can compare notes on how best to help you find your precious necklace.”

  “Such sweet, young people.” She tapped Winston on the knee. “Yes, do go on. I’ve had enough excitement this morning.” Lady Ponsonby certainly looked eager to leave. “I believe I’ll take a rest until luncheon.” She rose and Winston stood, holding out his arm for her to take it.

  Rosie had a funny feeling Lady Ponsonby was indeed eager to leave. Not to rest, but to follow up on that last thought she never had a chance to share. Blast the man. Winston had certainly put a nice wrinkle in her plan.

  Lifting his arm a notch as if to remind her he held it out for her still, the wry smile on his face a little too self-assured, he prompted, “Shall we?”

  Rosie stood without his help but placed her hand on his forearm when they walked from the formal garden back to the path that led to the maze.

  Something about him was intolerable and appealing at the same time. Maybe because he represented an extra challenge? Or because he wasn’t the usual competition? If he’d taken the necklace, it was obvious he was trying to keep her from getting any evidence. But keeping close to him and find
ing out more about him was just as good for her as far as she was concerned.

  “Tell me, Mr. Matthews—”

  “Please, don’t you think we’re past that formality, Beatrice? At least away from company.”

  “All right, then, Winston. What do you normally do to pass the time here at Government House? When the calendar isn’t full of holiday festivities, I mean.”

  “Not much really—I’m not home very often.”

  “Oh? Where do you spend most of your time?”

  “Business takes me all over.”

  Business? Most men in his position were men of excess and leisure. “Business for your father?”

  “Good heavens, no!” He must have recognized her triumphant look at his slip and quickly looked into the sun, raised his chin a notch, and took a calming breath. “I mean, I have my own pursuits.”

  “How very industrious of you.” And vague, she thought. This was going to take a bit more cunning.

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  When she’d watched him first come down this morning, he’d looked at home. Commanding and handsome, without a doubt every inch born for this world. But there were other times she’d catch a glimpse of something in his eye, or something in the way he moved and suddenly it seemed like the opposite was true—like someone untamed and dangerous was hiding just below the surface.

  It was as intriguing as it was unnerving. It almost reminded her of those old stories of fairy glamour. But she guessed in a way that was true of her, too. What was Beatrice Latimer other than fairy glamour? Glamour was ethereal, fleeting and insubstantial. Wouldn’t it be nice one day to have something solid, something lasting and strong to stand on instead of constantly dodging quicksand?